Taking Chances
by Shannon A. Bernstein
Summary: Toris Laurinaitis is a young reporter who's just landed a job at a big newspaper. By chance, he is sent to interview Ivan Braginsky, a star ice hockey player, who it just so happens he dated in college. Toris goes to the interview with every intention of being professional, but those intentions fall apart, leaving the two to get reacquainted. Smut/fluff oneshot.


Toris Laurinaitis straightened his tie one last time and walked into the building.

He felt uncomfortable in his dress clothes. He wore a dark green button-down with the sleeves rolled up past his elbows, a black tie, and black pants and dress shoes. He missed the ease of jeans and t-shirts that accompanied college life, and the transition out of those days had come too suddenly. The newspaper had called him just a week ago with the job offer, and he would have been foolish not to take it. But Toris had graduated from Moscow State University with a degree in journalism a month ago, and so he had to trade his casual attire for professional dress. He was from Lithuania, but had attended university in Russia because the program was better than the ones in his native country.

Fidgeting nervously, Toris reached up and fiddled with his tie, probably un-straightening it in the process. He hated wearing ties. The inside of the building still intimidated him, with its clean lines and roomy interior. It was so different from the cramped, stuffy quarters of the university newspaper at which he had worked for all four years of college. Holding his editor's business card in his hand, he took the elevator to the fourth floor, where his office was. As he walked, he read the names printed on the doorways, searching for the office of Mr. Petrov, the managing editor of this, one of the most prestigious newspapers in all of Russia. It was funny – four years ago, when Toris had first come to Russia, he could speak Russian almost fluently, but had trouble reading and writing it. After taking plenty of Russian rhetoric and composition courses to complement his journalism program, the Cyrillic letters flowed from the tip of his pen as easily as they fell from the tip of his tongue.

_Mikhail Petrov, managing editor._ Toris read and re-read the text on the door. He took a deep breath before knocking.

"Come in," said the man in thin, raspy Russian.

"_D-dobroye utro_," Toris said hesitantly, peering at the man. He had a thick mass of gray hair and huge glasses from under which he regarded the Lithuanian with squinty brown eyes.

"Ah, Toris Laurinaitis, _dobroye utro._ We are glad to have you," Mr. Petrov said, but neither his voice nor his expression reflected happiness. Though his face was frozen with emotionlessness, there were a few thin lines visible across his forehead and at the corners of his mouth.

"Thank you for-for this opportunity," Toris said. He still had no idea how he landed the job. Yes, he had worked at the collegiate newspaper for all four years of his university experience, had been the local news editor during his senior year, and had gained a reputation as a solid, dependable writer. But why had one of Moscow's most prominent newspapers hired _him_, a recent college graduate, and a Lithuanian no less, to work for them? He couldn't be _that_ good, he told himself. And besides, wouldn't they want one of his more confident peers? Last year as an editor had been a nightmare – every time deadline approached and his staff's stories had not come in, Toris had to fight back tears as he pleaded with his reporters to finish their articles, feeling powerless to do anything more.

A jagged smile cracked through the shroud of apathy engulfing Mr. Petrov's face – or perhaps it was Toris' imagination. "I must say, I believe you are the first Lithuanian we have had here. At the very least, you are the first we have had since I came to the newspaper."

"What would you like me to do today?"

Mr. Petrov pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose with his slightly wrinkled pointer finger. "Shall we throw you to the wolves right away?" His lips parted to release a cracking laugh that was really more like a cackle. Toris barely nodded, wondering what the man had in store for him. "One of our sports reporters called in sick today," Mr. Petrov continued. "I know you are on the metropolitan beat here, but how would you like to cover the story? Our other sports reporters are busy preparing for the London Olympics."

Toris froze. His heart jumped in his chest and chugged ahead at full speed. His green eyes sank to the ground. Toris rarely covered sports at the university newspaper. As he knew very little about them, he preferred to stick to covering local news. But it was his first day on the job. He couldn't say no, could he? "Yes, I can do that," he replied as he dragged his eyes upward to meet his new editor's gaze. This man was nothing like the student editors from the university, who were kind, helpful, and generally forgiving.

"Ah, good. It will be an easy piece. One of our own ice hockey players has returned from his season with the National Hockey League in the United States. His team made it to the Stanley Cup playoffs this year. I would just like you to go and ask him a few questions about their season. You can do some basic background research before you go. I am sure you are familiar with Ivan Braginsky?"

"_Ivan Braginsky?_" Toris echoed in disbelief. God, it had been so long since he last heard that name. He was not sure whether to smile or frown at the memories that accompanied it. On one hand, they had had some fantastic times together. On the other hand, he had left…

"Why, is that a problem?" Mr. Petrov asked.

Without even thinking, Toris stammered, "Y-yes, a little. I…well, I know him. We went to college together. We were, ah, friends, sort of." Friends didn't even begin to cover it. He and Ivan had dated for almost an entire school year. "Th-that would be a conflict of interest, wouldn't it?"

Mr. Petrov laughed, this time heartily, throwing his head back a little. "Ah, Toris Laurinaitis, listen to yourself – you are so naïve, aren't you? _Conflict of interest._ That is what the textbook teaches you in journalism school. But what real life teaches you is that sometimes, in journalism, you must cut corners to get your story. Even play dirty sometimes. Or else another will try to take what is yours. Will you take what is yours, Toris?"

It was against every moral fiber of Toris' being. But if he had learned anything at the university, it was that as a journalist, sometimes taking chances was the only way to get ahead. When a door opened, you had to step inside. It was wrong, of course. But did he want to lose his job already? Toris nodded stiffly.

"Good. Just pretend that you do not know him, okay? Now – background research, _da_? Go."

Toris sighed and headed to the desk he'd been assigned. He didn't need to do any background research. Instead, he opened Facebook, logged in, clicked on his photos, and scrolled through until he found one of the first photos he'd ever uploaded to the site. He stared at the screen, reacquainting himself with the once-familiar scene that greeted him. While he had never forgotten, it had been banished to the recesses of his memory. The buildings in the background of the photo were blanketed in a thin layer of fresh, powdery snow. Their cheeks were rosy and the tips of their noses bright pink. Toris looked even smaller standing next to Ivan Braginsky, who was a good five or six inches taller than he. Toris, a freshman, wore a black ushanka perched at an awkward angle atop his brown hair, which reached just past his ears. The photo had been snapped only seconds after Ivan, a senior, had removed the hat he was wearing and plunked it down on Toris' head. Ivan gazed straight into the camera with a satisfied, almost childish smirk. Toris had not been looking into the camera. Instead, his green eyes were aimed sideways at the Russian. He wore a smile that somehow managed to blend frustration and admiration.

The photo had been taken just after one of the university's big ice hockey games, which the team had won. Ivan had scored two of the five goals. Instead of celebrating with the team, Ivan had instead taken Toris out to dinner, preferring the peaceful conversation they had often shared. Toris still couldn't understand why the Russian, one of the university's star hockey players, had wanted to date _him._ True, he hadn't shared the self-assured jock-like attitudes of the other players on the team, but still…surely some cute college girl would have wanted to date him? Sighing, the Lithuanian clicked to the next photo. This one – this one he had completely forgotten about. He and Ivan were locked in a deep kiss. They hadn't even known one of their friends had taken the photo until later, when it had appeared on Facebook. Both had been frustrated at first, but in a week they had laughed it off…

Glancing at the time in the upper right-hand corner of the computer, Toris knew it was time to leave. He walked slowly down the stairs, taking as much time as he could, and got back into his car for the second time that day. Trying to focus on his driving, he left the parking lot, following the directions Mr. Petrov had given him. He couldn't believe it – Toris had not seen the Russian in nearly four years, and now he was assigned to give him an interview? Soon, his mind wandered. If their relationship had been the farthest thing from the Lithuanian's mind up until now, it was the _only_ thing on his mind as he drove. Ivan and Toris had been in the same required rhetoric and composition class during fall semester, even though Ivan had been a senior. Reading and writing had never been Ivan's strong suit, so he had put off the requisite course until only two semesters stood between him and graduation. Toris could remember peer-editing Ivan's papers, offering him extra help outside of class. In return, Ivan had leaned over Toris' shoulder as the Lithuanian struggled with math problems. Numbers were as infuriating to Toris as they were easy to Ivan. Somehow, that friendship had grown until Toris had given Ivan his virginity along with his heart.

Toris' directions told him he had arrived at his destination. He looked up at a beautiful townhouse – was this Ivan's home? He parked his car and walked to the door, his heart pounding furiously. Pausing, he stared at the entryway before knocking softly, his hands shaking a little. "_Privyet?_" the familiar voice came. Toris' heart gave a little squeeze. His face flushed automatically, though he had not yet laid eyes upon his past lover. The doorknob rotated. The door creaked as it opened. Ivan poked his head in the opening, his big purple eyes widening as he took in the image of the man standing before him. "_Toris?_" he said, blinking rapidly in surprise. "It has been much too long, _da_?"

"Yes, it ha-"

Before Toris got a chance to finish, Ivan threw his arms around Toris and pulled him into a tight embrace, arms circling all the way around the smaller body. The suddenness of the Russian's action had knocked the wind out of Toris, and he gasped as Ivan squeezed him. Ivan hugged the Lithuanian now just as he had hugged him early in their relationship: tightly, intensely, and almost a little painfully. As their relationship had progressed, Ivan had become surprisingly tender. "What are you doing here?" Ivan said with a smile as he released the Lithuanian abruptly, causing him to stagger backwards and rock onto his heels.

Toris barely heard what Ivan had to say. His eyes traveled up and down the length of the tall body towering over him, searching for any physical differences in the man he had once known. The broad shoulders, the wide frame, the square stance…all just as Toris remembered them. He was still wearing his scarf, although it was June and at least eighty degrees outside today. Well, it was cool enough inside, Toris supposed. But the figure before him was harder, tighter than it had been in college. While ice hockey had always kept Ivan from being completely out of shape, he had always been a little soft in the middle; Toris had been able to lay down with his head on the Russian's stomach and fall comfortably asleep. Now, three seasons of professional ice hockey had eaten away at that softness. Absently, the Lithuanian thought of sliding his hand beneath Ivan's t-shirt to feel the muscled lines he was sure would be there – but he'd never have the guts to do that. The black t-shirt Ivan wore was stretched tightly across his upper chest, muscles visible even through the fabric and the orange-and-white Philadelphia Flyers logo with accompanying text that read _Stanley Cup Playoffs 2012_. Finally, Toris' eyes arrived at the Russian's face. The cheeks were perhaps a little bit thinner than he remembered, but barely enough to be noticeable. But a scar, still pink and fresh, sliced diagonally across Ivan's nose and trailed onto his right cheek. Another, older yet thicker, stretched across his left temple. These scars were different; they were carved by particles of ice, by hockey sticks, perhaps even by blades of ice skates. The ones Toris could not see, the ones on Ivan's back, thighs, and a few faint ones on his wrists – those had been inflicted by the Russian's father.

"Hmm? What brings you here?" Ivan repeated, shaking his head amusedly. He pushed open the door for Toris, motioning for him to step inside. "I was expecting a reporter, but not you…"

That voice jerked Toris back to reality. "I…well, I'm…working for the newspaper." He followed Ivan into the house and closed the door behind him. Ivan flopped carelessly onto the couch, slumping against it. Toris joined him, sitting up straight, a gap between his back and the couch.

Ivan stretched his arms out and rested them on the back of the couch so that his left arm was wedged between Toris' shoulder blades and the couch. He ignored the light contact his movement had made as though it had been unintentional. But Toris knew better. He had, after all, spent one year familiarizing himself with the games Ivan played, even coming to enjoy them. "Ah, so they sent _you_, then. Wonderful, you got the job. But do they know we…" the Russian paused, raising one eyebrow, "…know each other?"

"I told them we were friends in college," Toris admitted.

The pair of purple eyes clouded over. The smile evaporated rapidly from Ivan's face like droplets of water on the pavement on a very hot day. "Toris isn't ashamed we dated, is he?" Ivan asked, his voice a shade quieter than before. He lowered his gaze, breaking the contact his eyes had made with the Lithuanian's.

"N-no, of course not!" Toris answered quickly. "It was just…my first day on the job and…it caught me off guard and…I didn't know what to…I didn't want…" The Lithuanian had trouble organizing his thoughts. He tried but failed to force the words from the tip of his tongue to his lips. He took a deep breath and exhaled shakily. _Stay calm,_ he commanded himself inwardly. "I didn't regret it, not even for a minute," Toris said.

"_Da_?" Ivan said, looking only minimally reassured. He recoiled his left arm, causing Toris' body to fall backward into the fabric of the couch. He folded his hands and stared at them.

Though it seemed as though Toris' brain had shut down, his hands moved as though they had a will of their own. He took both Ivan's hands in his own. "_Da_," the Lithuanian repeated firmly, though his insides were quavering.

"Toris, I've missed you," Ivan said as his thumbs traced over the backs of Toris' hands. Toris curled his fingers around Ivan's palms automatically. The Russian's words echoed in his ears. Ivan had never been good at putting what he was feeling into words, so to hear him admit such a thing was a bit shocking to the Lithuanian.

"You ha…?" Toris started to question, but let his words fall away, lost to the still air disturbed only by the sounds of cars passing on the street outside and by the _whoosh_ of the air conditioner. Ivan wouldn't lie to him about something like that. He regarded the pair of purple eyes before him; they were wide and trembling with something like _fear_. Perhaps fear left by the gap that more than three years had created between them. "I've missed you, too, Ivan," Toris replied truthfully, knowing Ivan wanted some token of reassurance to ease the doubts that must be buzzing around in his mind like a thousand angry bees, tormenting him, relentless. But words did not seem enough. Ivan's smile returned faintly to his face, but with none of its usual eagerness, leaving his eyes cold. In fact, it was nearly invisible beneath his scarf. How could the Lithuanian bridge that gap? There was no other answer, so Toris leaned forward. He pressed his right hand into the couch to anchor his body as his left wrapped around the back of Ivan's neck, pulling the Russian's face toward his until their lips met.

Toris had almost forgotten how those lips felt against his. Firm and slightly chapped from long hours spent in the parched cold air of the ice rink. But at first, Ivan did not press back against Toris' kiss. Those violet eyes were left wide open in shock, even as Toris' own eyes slid closed almost involuntarily. But in a moment, the Lithuanian felt the pressure returned. A rough, calloused hand slid across his arm, down his side, and came to rest on his hip. Ivan's tongue flicked against the Lithuanian's lips, which he parted with a small moan. Their tongues slid across each other, leaving a thin trail of moisture on their lips.

As they pulled apart, inhaling deeply, the brightness returned to Ivan's eyes. Toris sighed in relief at the expression of contentment on the Russian's face – but the expression slowly twisted into a smirk. The Lithuanian searched Ivan's face, wondering what he was up to. But he soon had his answer. Ivan's hand had fell upon Toris' knee. He slid that hand up along the other man's thigh until it came to rest fully on Toris' cock.

The Lithuanian made a little noise of surprise as his body shivered in response to that sudden weight. That entitled hand now stroked between Toris' legs as Ivan's eyes wandered the room nonchalantly, as though he had not been paying attention and had failed to notice where he'd put his hand. But the way his lips curved upward told another story: Ivan knew _exactly_ what he was doing. "I-Ivan…" he said, as if in protest. But even as he spoke, he spread his thighs a little further apart to allow the Russian's hand to move further between them. Ivan's fingers were now wrapped fully around Toris' member, or as close as they could come through his dress pants. In spite of the air conditioner's efforts, the room around the Lithuanian grew hot. He felt hardness between his legs. Ivan's hand never shifted position as he bent his head to kiss Toris again, harder this time. If it wasn't clear before what Ivan wanted, it certainly was now. Some muffled instinct in the back of Toris' mind told him to resist, to say no – after all, it had been years! He shouldn't trust the Russian again so quickly, should he? But that little voice cried out in vain, blocked out by the way his body responded to Ivan's touch…it felt so _good_… and it had been so _long_ since he'd been touched like that!

Ivan's other hand was now at Toris' belt buckle, undoing it. This was the Lithuanian's last chance to push Ivan away, to tell him to stop! He opened his mouth as if to do so, but no sound came out. Ivan pulled the belt away and dropped it on the ground beside the couch. He jerked his head down a hallway and said with a smirk, "Bedroom's this way." He said that in such an assured manner, as if Toris couldn't resist! But they both knew that was true. He _couldn't_ resist, not even from the beginning. When they'd first started dating, he'd been afraid, letting Ivan undress him as though it was a requisite of the trust they shared – a way to prove that the way Ivan had waited patiently long after that magical third date would be worth it. But then it had grown into something more than that. He'd _loved_ Ivan. He'd _wanted_ Ivan. And he still did.

"O-okay," Toris said finally. Ivan grabbed the Lithuanian's hand and tugged at it impatiently to urge him down the hall, as a child might try to drag his mother through the sliding doors to the toy store. Toris followed the Russian down the hall and into the bedroom. They sat at the edge of the bed together. Ivan took hold of both Toris' shoulders and put nearly his entire weight on the smaller body. Powerless to hold himself upright, the Lithuanian flopped onto the sheets. A larger body hovered over him in an instant. Toris leaned up to kiss the Russian, but found the other man's face veiled by his scarf. He reached up to remove it.

Ivan flinched. His breath hitched as Toris' fingers wrapped around the edges of the scarf. He caught the Lithuanian's wrist in his iron grip and searched the pair of green eyes. Toris looked back at him, concerned. Sighing, Ivan released the wrist he held onto and let the other man pull the scarf away from his face. Ivan hadn't done that in a long time, Toris thought wistfully. The first few times they'd had sex, the Russian insisted upon removing the scarf himself, and only after his body had been stripped of all other articles of clothing. It was a security blanket of sorts. He could pull it up to cover his mouth entirely, therefore hiding his emotions from those around him. Ivan's insecurity and Toris' lack of willpower to resist the Russian had remained the same through those years they spent apart. Some things never changed.

They shed their socks and shoes. Ivan undid Toris' tie and flung it onto the ground. One by one, he unbuttoned the Lithuanian's dress shirt. Toris wiggled his arms out of it once Ivan's fingers reached the bottom and allowed it to join his tie, making a small untidy pile on the ground, waiting to be added to. He pulled his undershirt over his head himself. Ivan removed his own shirt so that they were both dressed only from the waist down. Toris stared; he had been right. The stomach that hovered above his was now tight with clearly defined abs. Toris laid his fingers in the grooves created by the new set of muscles. Of course they were there. Now ice hockey was Ivan's life rather than an afterthought to his college career.

Ivan kissed Toris, his tongue tracing the other man's lower lip. He then kissed the corner of Toris' mouth, then up and down his jawbone, working his lips in a sequential line over the Lithuanian's face. They then moved to the now-exposed collarbone, pale almost to match Ivan's skin. He kissed all along the smooth skin stretched over that collarbone, then down Toris' chest until his lips came to rest just above the Lithuanian's dress pants. Ivan gave a little huff of disappointment that the fabric interrupted the advancement of his kisses along Toris' body. He unbuttoned the pants and pulled them away from the slender body. Before bending to press a kiss to Toris' hip, Ivan yanked off his jeans. It was an old rule they shared. They had to be even. Toris was surprised the Russian remembered.

Continuing the path his lips made, Ivan pulled the waistband of Toris' underwear aside and pressed a kiss to his hipbone. But he didn't break that contact, kissing the spot again and again, then tracing it with his tongue, then finally sinking his teeth into it gently. Toris moaned softly at the exact moment his body shivered. He bit his lip to silence that sound. His face flushed. But the Russian stared down at him with those entrancing purple eyes, and chuckled softly, brushing his hot cheek with the back of his palm. His erection was now throbbing. Though he didn't want to give in to Ivan so soon, his resolve cracked as he begged, "Ivan, please…?" in a high-pitched voice he almost didn't recognize, he hadn't heard himself speak in such a voice for so long!

"_Kak vy khotite_, Toris," Ivan said with a self-indulgent smile.

They stripped the last pieces of fabric from each other's bodies. Toris turned himself over willingly, without even the slightest encouraging motion from Ivan, sinking his knees and the heels of his palms into the mattress. He felt hot breath on his neck. Ivan's arousal pressed against Toris' thigh, throbbing. The Lithuanian expected to feel the curve of Ivan's hips against his backside. Instead, a finger slid inside him, completely dry. Toris gritted his teeth against the moment of pain without pleasure. He tensed his muscles, and his entire body shuddered. He realized he'd been holding his breath, and released it slowly. The dry sliding sensation was repeated as Ivan slipped two more fingers inside. "A-ah, Ivan…" the strangled half-gasp half-moan fell from his lips. This time the conditioned responses followed: Toris arched his back and spread his thighs further apart. Ivan pulled his fingers back and grabbed onto Toris' hips, and there was one more long collective sigh between them as they exhaled at almost exactly the same moment before…

Toris almost screamed as Ivan slowly pushed inside him. He bit his lip to stop himself. The unaided rubbing of flesh against flesh burned for a moment before the Russian stole Toris' attention away with gentle kisses placed all along his back. That was before Ivan pulled back and thrust into Toris again, hard enough to throw the smaller man off balance. His shoulder blades dipped and his palms slid forward against the soft sheets. Barely having righted himself, Toris felt the third thrust come. He whimpered and then allowed Ivan to hear the moan he'd been fighting back as he pressed back against the Russian. He whimpered continually and gasped for air. The pain had vanished. He'd forgotten how _good_ it felt to have Ivan penetrate him like this – how Ivan filled him completely.

The motions of their bodies now fell into lockstep, with Ivan pressing forward and Toris leaning back against that wonderful firm cock at the exact same moment. They could not have moved together better if their motions had been timed to the second with a clock. Ivan's hands wrapped around Toris' pulsing arousal and stroked it from base to tip, lingering there for a moment before the Russian repeated the process. "Ah, Ivan, oh, I-van," Toris moaned in response. Ivan gave a series of increasingly shortened grunts, blowing soft puffs of air against the Lithuanian's neck that ruffled his brunette hair. He felt himself getting closer…if only Ivan would just…

As if the Russian had read his mind, he began to stroke Toris' erection faster as the pace of his thrusts increased, the _slap_ of skin against skin now audible amidst the tangle of moans and grunts. Then, all at once, Toris came, screaming Ivan's name as his body trembled all over. Ivan was not far behind. He released the Lithuanian's member and now held both of the narrow hips, pulling Toris into him faster. Pain returned to accompany the bigger man's thrusts, and Toris squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the agony to end. Ivan, usually eerily quiet at his climax (perhaps resulting from a desire to feel in control), repeated Toris' name over and over in a trembling, pleading voice, and came swiftly inside the Lithuanian.

Almost instantly they fell apart, hot, their hearts racing. Toris panted heavily as an arm wrapped around his waist. They faced each other now so that he could see the tranquil smile on the Russian's face, the warm glimmer of those purple eyes. Threading his fingers through the sweat-soaked blonde hair, Toris pulled Ivan's face toward his own and kissed him softly, mumbling an exhausted sigh of relief against the other man's lips. Ivan brushed the Lithuanian's hair away from his heated cheeks. Laughing lightly at the question that had been at the back of his mind the whole time, Toris said, "Ivan, why didn't you use any lub-"

Ivan cut him off with a muffled chuckle of his own. "I don't have any," he said, his hand on the Lithuanian's hip to fit their bodies together perfectly as they laid down for a much-deserved rest. "There hasn't been anyone else but you."

A smile surfaced to Toris' lips. He wanted to respond, but he was so sleepy! His eyelids felt heavy, and they slid closed without Toris' permission. He found Ivan's hand at his hip and held it, intertwining their fingers together, before sleep overtook him…

* * *

Toris awoke in a haze. His head felt fuzzy and warm, as though it had been stuffed with cotton balls. He was wrapped in Ivan's scent. He didn't want to move from that comfortable spot. But reaching out to the side next to him, he found the bed empty, a little indent evident where Ivan had lain recently. Toris' naked body was half-covered in Ivan's Flyers jersey. His eyes moved to the pile of his clothes on the floor. _Ivan's gone. _As that realization flooded his mind, he sat bolt upright, the jersey and the sheets falling away from him. His eyes swept the room in a panic. Ivan's home was nearly silent, except for the dull _whoosh _of the air conditioner as it combated the Moscow summer heat. _Not again,_ Toris thought. _He left me here by myself. He's probably out getting on with his life._ Tears brimmed in the Lithuanian's eyes. Ivan had just come back into his life. He couldn't lose him again…

Just then, Toris heard the sound of footsteps on tile, muffled as they met carpet. He jerked his head up as Ivan stood in the doorway holding a steaming mug. Ivan made his way to the Lithuanian's side and set the mug down on the little table beside the bed. "I made you some coffee," Ivan said. "I thought you might want…"

"You le-left," Toris said, his voice cracking as he cut Ivan off. The tears in his eyes slid down his cheeks. He wanted to resist as the Russian leaned toward him wearing a concerned expression, but his fingers curled helplessly into the fabric of Ivan's shirt instead. His words did not refer to the instant moments ago when he had woken up to an empty bed, but to the three previous years he had woken up every morning without Ivan by his side.

Ivan seemed to know this. He sat down next to Toris on the bed and wiped tears away from his face with his thumb. "_Da_, I know, and I'm very sorry."

Toris buried his face in Ivan's chest and sobbed into it. "No, you _had_ to go, didn't you? You would have been crazy not to. I'm s-so selfish…" His words tumbled over one another as his body began to shake all over in time with the sobs that caught in his throat.

Ivan's strong arms wrapped around Toris' shaking body and pulled him close until their chests nearly touched. "_Nyet_, you are not selfish," Ivan said quietly. "There were times I wish I had not gone. I thought of you, Toris…"

"Y-you did?" Toris blinked away the tears that weighed down his eyelashes and looked upon Ivan's face through blurry vision. He reached out and touched the Russian's cheek with the back of his hand, expecting its familiar softness. But he recoiled his hand slightly in shock when his fingers brushed damp skin. Toris stared harder at Ivan to find the other man's cheeks slick with quiet tears. He had never seen Ivan cry before – his purple eyes had moistened on the day he had left Russia for Philadelphia as he turned to give Toris a last glance before he boarded the plane. But the Lithuanian had never seen those tears actually fall.

Ivan leaned in and rested his forehead against Toris'. He kissed the Lithuanian tenderly, the soft contact of their lips a stark departure from the roughness with which they had met two hours ago. Toris closed his eyes instinctually. As they pulled away, he returned his face to its place against Ivan's chest. "_Da_," the Russian said, cupping Toris' chin in his palm and tilting it upward so they met each other's gaze. The redness on their cheeks and underneath their eyes matched. "Did they tell you, Toris?"

"Did who tell me what?" Toris asked.

"At the newspaper," Ivan explained. "Did they tell you I've been offered a position on the CSKA team here in Moscow? And that I've accepted?"

Toris lifted both eyebrows. "Does that mean you're staying?"

"Yes, yes it does. Would you like to…" Ivan hesitated, and again his expression became uncertain. This time it was Ivan who lowered his eyes to avoid looking directly at Toris. "…would you like to give this another try?" Now his voice was nearly at a whisper.

After all that had happened in the past few hours, Toris did not even have to pause to consider his answer. "Of course I would," he replied softly. He had been offered another chance, another open door. He'd be crazy not to walk through it. He leaned in to kiss Ivan again when a thought crossed his mind. He turned to peer at the alarm clock on the little table with sudden horror. "Wha…how long was I out?"

"A couple of hours," Ivan said nonchalantly. "You were exhausted."

"Of course I was, I couldn't sleep last night! I was nervous about my new job-" Toris leapt to his feet. "My deadline! My deadline! Shit! I have to go!" he said as he pulled on his pants, stuck his arms through the sleeves of his shirt, and buttoned it hurriedly. As he stuffed his feet into his shoes, he glanced back to see Ivan holding Toris' cell phone, flicking his finger across its touch screen. As Ivan felt the Lithuanian's eyes upon him, he looked up with an expression of guilt, like a child who'd been caught sneaking dessert before dinner. "Ivan, were you going through my phone?" Toris asked, surprised that the tone of his own voice was not the slightest bit annoyed.

"Maybe," Ivan said, feigning innocence. He handed it back to Toris with a sweet smile. "Here. It was missing something."

"Well Ivan, I-I've got to go," Toris said, flustered, as he ran both hands through his hair to straighten it.

"Call me?" Ivan asked, his lips parting in a grin.

"How?" Toris said. "I don't even have your number anymore."

"Yes, you do," Ivan insisted. Toris shook his head and started toward the door. The Russian grabbed his arm, spun him around, pulled him close, and kissed him one more time. His tongue toyed with and teased the Lithuanian's, lingering for an extra-long moment before leaning back, both hands still on Toris' hips. "_Do svidaniya, moĭ dorogoĭ,_" Ivan said.

Ivan's kiss made Toris want to stay. But the pull of his professional demands called to him incessantly. He turned to glance into the Russian's eyes and gave him a smile before he closed the door behind him.

Toris drove back to the office much more at peace than he had when he left. He could not wipe the smile from his face as he replayed the events of the morning over and over in his head. In the space of several hours, he had regained a lover he thought had been lost forever. He could barely wrap his mind around the reality of it all. It still felt surreal. This time, as he took the elevator and walked to his desk, he moved without hesitation. "How did it go, Toris?" a thin, raspy voice asked.

Whirling around, Toris found himself face to face with Mr. Petrov, his boss. "How did what go?" Toris asked, his mind still on the taste of Ivan's lips.

"The _interview_? Your _story_?"

_Fuck_.

That was the word that ran through Toris' head as he realized he had not asked Ivan one single question he could actually use for the story. All thoughts of the newspaper had vanished from his mind the moment he took the Russian's hands in his own. "I…um…forgot about that," he said guiltily. For the first time, he wondered how this could have happened. Toris had driven to Ivan's house with every intention of being purely professional, but it hadn't taken him long to get over that.

"What?" Mr. Petrov cried, his usually monotone drone rising to a shout. "What the hell do you mean, you forgot? You forgot to give an interview? What _were_ you doing? And where is your tie?"

Toris' hands moved to the collar of his shirt and felt around for the tie he had worn that morning. It was gone. He searched his mind, but could not recall putting it on before he left Ivan's home. It must be still lying on the floor of the bedroom. "I – ah…" Toris was always bad at lying. The truth fought to spill from his lips: _We were stripping each other naked. Having sex. Getting back together._ The last one made him smile. He swallowed hard and said, "I haven't seen Ivan in more than three years. We, um, we were…t-talking." Toris' face flushed bright red. He hoped Mr. Petrov didn't notice.

"Talking? _Talking?_ You spent four hours talking to your college buddy instead of doing your job? _Bozhe moĭ,_ Toris!" Mr. Petrov was now yelling so loudly that other reporters, working diligently at their desks, had stopped to peer with wide eyes at the editor as he admonished Toris. "If we can't trust you with this, how can we trust you with any other assignment? Maybe they were right. Maybe it _was_ a bad idea to hire a Lithuanian." Toris bit his lip, frozen to the spot. "Get out of here, and don't come back," Mr. Petrov finished, his voice once again quiet and thin.

Toris nodded robotically. Without speaking another word to Mr. Petrov, he turned and retreated to the stairs, walking them to the first floor as he listened to the echoes of his footfalls reverberating in the empty stairwell. Strangely, he did not feel sad, or disappointed in himself. He and Ivan were back together again. It had been worth it. He stepped outside. With trembling fingers, he fished in his pocket for his cell phone and withdrew it, scrolling through his contacts. Ivan said Toris had his number. He scrutinized the list carefully, but the name "Ivan Braginsky" did not catch his eye. He checked again. Toris noticed a new entry, but instead of Ivan's name…

"_Moya lyubov," _Toris read aloud. He laughed softly to himself, blushing again. He hit "call." The phone rang. "Ivan? _Privyet?_"

"Toris! You are calling so soon. Couldn't get enough of me, _da_?" His words were joking, but he sounded rather serious and hopeful.

"Ivan…" Toris said, and then paused. "Vanya. They fired me."

"Ah, because we were having sex?" Ivan said, his tone much too innocent to fit the words he had just spoken. The Russian always had a way of putting color on Toris' cheeks with his sheer bluntness.

"I guess you could put it that way."

"So now that you have…time on your hands, would you like to get dinner with me tonight? Seven o'clock? I will give you the tie you left at my house," Ivan said.

"_Da_," Toris said, unable to control the smile that rose to his lips.

* * *

**I think it's important to note that an aspiring journalist myself, I do NOT support violating ethics for the sake of getting a good story. It's just Mr. Petrov's character.**

**And of course, I do not own Hetalia, or the Philadelphia Flyers.**

**As always, thanks for reading, and reviews are love :)**


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